


Alternately, Twelve Days of Christmas

by threeplusfire



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Multi, Organized Crime, Pacific Rim AU, Postwar AU, Space Marines, Underhill - Freeform, University AU, Urban Magic Yogs, art heist, basically everything, coffee shop AU, every AU under the sun, postapocalypse au, venture capitalists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve small glimpses of Christmas in other worlds, other lives, other stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing Left Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Something between a gift and self indulgence, inspired by the art and stories of friends in fandom. Thank you for being who you are, and for the ever wonderful world spanning conversations.

“You know, this is terrible.”

“What is?”

 _“This!”_ Ross gestured at the bulk of buildings rising up as they jogged around the base. “Everything!”

“What?” Chris puffed. Ross jogged slower than usual, but his longer stride still meant Trott had to move faster to keep up with him.

“I can’t get anyone Christmas presents!” Ross burst out, looking miserable. His hands tightened into fists, knuckles white.

“What are you talking about?” Chris stopped, breathing hard. He stared at Ross, baffled by the outburst.

“You’ll know, the minute we drift, it won’t be a surprise…” Ross drew a breath, and turned around. He stared as Chris sank to his knees, the beginnings of laughter bubbling out from behind a hand.

“Goddamn it, stop laughing! This isn’t funny!” Ross shouted. A pack of Zhukov’s newest class of recruits jogged past them, glancing sideways at the Jaeger pilots with naked curiosity. Zhukov waved cheerfully, his breath steaming in the frigid morning.

Chris looked up, a hiccup of laughter escaping him.

“Goddamn it, I love you sometimes,” he gasped.

“You love me all the time,” Ross said, unable to stop himself from smiling. He hauled Chris back to his feet, and gave him a shove. Chris flipped him off, loping slowly down the tarmac in the early morning gloom. After a moment, Ross followed, wondering how exactly he was going to get them Christmas presents without spoiling it.


	2. Space Marines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely inspired by my love of Heinlein's Starship Troopers and the excellent film.

Mail call brought a number of packages, and Hornby marveled that somehow interplanetary mail deliveries continued despite the light years and the war. Most mail came on disc, but someone was still hauling tightly sealed little packages around between planets. It was a little absurd if you thought about it too hard. He dug into the box from home, breathing in the smell of cookies. His mother made the best cookies, spicy and sweet with tiny flecks of sugar on top. Hornby put an entire one in his mouth as he read the letter from home. It made him feel a bit like he was home, and not in a giant troop ship so far away.

He glanced up, watching the rest of his squad for a moment. Smith sat at the table, conspicuously the only person not opening mail. He’d never gotten any letters or packages, and Hornby wondered if there was anyone out there who missed him. He caught Smith’s eye and jerked his chin, gesturing for Smith to join him on the top bunk. Smith frowned, but boosted himself up to sit beside him. Silently, Hornby offered him a cookie. Smith hesitated a moment before taking it. He took a small bite, and raised his eyebrows. Hornby just grinned, and ate another one. He went back to reading about his parents’ farm and their plans for the holidays, while Smith nibbled on his cookie. The noise rose and fell around them, but they stayed sitting in companionable silence eating gingersnaps.

 

 


	3. The Postwar AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the postwar AU series [All of Me](http://archiveofourown.org/series/295526), written in conjunction with Leon. Any excuse to write about cake.

Carefully Ross scraped the bowl clean, dripping every last bit of cake batter into the tin. He slid it into the waiting oven, and leaned against the sink to lick the last bits off his spoon. The spoon was gritty with sugar, and Ross reveled in the taste. A clerk had given him a knowing wink, and a sly remark about the wife he surely kept at home when he mentioned baking a Christmas cake.  


 

Ross reached for the little bowl of walnut halves he’d saved to decorate the top of the cake, and ate one slowly, savoring the way his teeth sliced into the nut. He hoped this would come out, that he hadn’t wasted their rations of sugar for his dream of making a cake. It was meant to be his gift to both of them, even though he was using their kitchen, and some of their ration cards to make it. Trott was still at the hospital, working into the evening. Smith was sorting out the laundry in the other room, and Ross could hear him singing along to the radio.   


 

He listened to the oven tick, and rinsed the spoon clean. The winter sunlight was already gone, making the dim kitchen light even more golden. His tongue pressed the last bits of walnut to the roof of his mouth, mixed with cake batter from the spoon. Ross felt more at home than he'd felt in years.  



	4. Art Heist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by many a delightful conversation with my friend Bee about the joys of art, painting and forgery

“No, it’s totally a copy,” Trott explained between bites of his pastry. The pistachio croissant was laminated with green stripes of dough, an amazing brilliant color. He had insisted on stopping for a coffee, the pastry case with its fantastic colors calling to him from the sidewalk. It was the best sort of winter day, cold and breezy but washed in bright pale sunlight that warmed the backs of his hands. He pushed the sleeve of his sweater back, absently noting the smudge of paint on the inside of the cuff. 

“Next you’ll tell me half the Louvre is copies- wait, no, please!” Ross held his hands up in the face of Trott’s mirth. “Let me enjoy my cake in peace.”

Smith leaned across the table, and stole one of the tiny meringue mushrooms from Ross’  bûche de Noël. He dipped it into his coffee before biting off the cap.

“Got get your own!” Ross exclaimed, pointing at Smith with his fork.

“I don’t want a slice, I just want the meringues.” Smith grinned, crunching deliberately into the little mushroom. He slouched in his seat, adjusting his sunglasses and watching a trio of giggling girls in knee high boots and snug sweaters glide past them. They were tall and confident, like a magazine come to life.  


“Are we staying here for the holiday, or…?” Ross asked, forking up another bite of his dessert.

“You know I have a ton of work to do,” Trott began.

“Those paintings have waited centuries, they can wait another week.” Smith lifted his cup. “It’s Christmas, Trott! We’re in Paris! Come on!”

“Alright, alright,” Trott agreed, thinking about the museums again.  


 


	5. Lawyer AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, an idea is too ridiculous and fun to resist.

“Goodnight!” Kim gave him a little wave as she backed out the door, tugging up the hood of her coat. Smith wondered what plans she had, where she was going tonight. He leaned back in his chair, hands rubbing at his face. He considered going home, ignoring the pile of paperwork that needed sorting and filing. It was much less fun without Kim around to talk with, anyways. 

The phone on his desk rang, and Smith nearly tipped out of his chair. He flailed for a second, then grabbed the receiver on the third ring.

“Smith speaking.” He hoped he didn’t sound as startled as he felt. 

“What the hell did you send me?”

Smith grinned at the familiar voice, the tone of irritation and curiosity.

“It’s Christmas, Trott. Everyone sends presents.”

“Thanks for being so annoying, hope this makes you better,” Trott read. “That’s a hell of a thing to write in someone’s Christmas card, Smith.”

“Did you open it?” Smith asked, tucking one foot under himself. 

“I did,” Trott admitting grudgingly. “It’s very nice, thank you.”

“The bar rips you off, a bottle’s far cheaper than drinking watered down whiskey.”

“Hmmm.” Smith could hear Trott shifting the phone on his shoulder. He tried to imagine Trott in his office, with the box Smith sent over this afternoon. He’d spent entirely too long considering what to send to the prosecutor’s office, even longer trying to think of something pithy to write in the card that would needle Trott just right. Smith mentally congratulated himself on his success.

“I don’t like to drink alone,” Trott said after the silence stretched on too long.

“Maybe you need to make some friends,” Smith teased, unable to resist falling into their usual barbed banter.

“Maybe I’d make friends, if I didn’t know so many assholes.”

“You could always take up drinking with assholes.”

“Bring something to eat then, I have fuck all for groceries at home.”

Smith laughed, reaching for a pen to scribble down Trott’s address.


	6. Underhill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Leon's incredible work in progress, a story I'm so incredibly invested in. A bit of melancholy about one's first Christmas far away from home.

Even sitting practically in the fireplace didn’t help the chill. Ross could feel the fire, the way the air stirred, the warmth of it. But he couldn’t get warm, no matter what he did. He shivered, wondering if he had a fever, if nearly freezing to death in the snow had somehow broken him. Nothing felt real here, least of all himself.

He touched the carved stone, feeling the holly berries and leaves. The design curved and stretched the length of fireplace, an unsettling sort of realism that made it seem as if he only had to blink for the designs to take color and life. It was almost Christmas, he remembered. There was a decoration along the stair rail, ribbon and fake holly berries. He suddenly wanted nothing so much as to be home, in the chaos of Christmas, the raucous laughter of his younger siblings as they tore into wrapping paper and ate candy canes on the living room floor. He tried to summon up the memory of his mother’s pancakes, the burble of the ancient coffee pot in the kitchen. For Christmas morning she’d make pancakes with chocolate chips. He’d never been anywhere but home for Christmas, and it pained him. There was no Christmas tree, no decorations, no sign of the holiday at all in this strange place.

Ross hugged himself tightly, trying to warm up. He felt a pang of envy, watching Smith lean into Trott’s side on the low sofa on the other side of the fireplace. They looked warm, comfortable and at ease with each other. They were something strange, closed off from him. Even if they were human, they were still distant. Ross closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was back at home. Sitting beside the little fireplace, listening to his siblings argue, the roar of the television, his stepfather’s voice and his mother’s answering laughter. Ross’ cold fingers traced the stone, searching for solace. He was incredibly lonely, so far from home and anyone who knew him. Ross closed his eyes, and shivered again.


	7. Coffee Shop AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who loves a classic coffee shop AU story. It is one of my favorite fandom tropes, so of course we're having one for Christmas.

“Triple shot mocha for _Toby Larone_ ,” Ross called out, his voice wavering with suppressed laughter. The attractive ginger pushed himself away from the table nearest the windows and sauntered forward. Ross was pretty sure the deer in the holiday sweater design were banging. He tried to look without staring too obviously.

“Thanks, mate.” Toby Larone was definitely not his real name. The names had gotten less subtle every time he came in, and now were mostly bad puns or inappropriate nicknames. He leaned on the counter, half singing along to the strains of “Winter Wonderland.” Ross was already sick of Christmas music, but the man had a lovely voice and he didn’t mind. He had a lovely everything, if Ross was honest with himself. He tried not to think too hard about it. 

“Do you really want me to call for this, or are you going to take him his drink?” Ross jerked his head towards the table, and the man’s companion. A slender, brunet haired man with a ready laugh sat there playing with his phone. 

“Call it, Ross. He loves to hear your voice.” The other man winked at him, enjoying the color rising in Ross’ face and his annoyance at the use of his name. These two had come in for weeks now, giving increasingly absurd names and flirting with him. They knew Ross’ because of the conspicuous name tag. 

“Cappucino for _salmon boy_ ,” Ross half shouted, his voice louder than he intended. It carried over the end of the Christmas carol, and some of the other customers looked baffled. Someone laughed abruptly. He wanted to hide behind the espresso machine now. When the brunet arrived, Ross held his drink just out of reach.

“Look, what’s your actual damn name?” he demanded. 

“I’ll tell you. but only if I can have your number.” He leaned on the counter, looking at Ross with his dark eyes. Ross stood there, surprised and trying to decide if this was serious. The other man flicked his hair back out of his face, still staring at Ross. 

Without a word, Ross pulled a pen out of his apron pocket. He scribbled his phone number on the side of the cup, and passed it over. Grinning now, the brunet walked back to his table. Ross watched as he pulled another shot, catching the startled exclamation from the ginger and the triumphant laughter of the brunet. He looked down, feeling the heat in his cheeks. Clearly this was just a “fuck with the barista” game. He felt incredibly dumb. 

Fortunately there was a line, and he was too busy to check his phone when it started to vibrate in his pocket. Ross racked up a row of peppermint mochas and eggnog lattes for a group of teenagers, just kids with ordinary names. By then it was time for his break, and Ross slipped into the stock room without looking towards the windows.

Pulling out his phone, he couldn’t help but sigh at the number of text messages. Reluctantly Ross opened one, expecting the worst. His finger hovered, ready to swipe them away and delete them all. Why had he given his number to some stranger?

The first message popped up. It was a selfie of the brunet, grinning.

_ Smith’s absolutely furious that he didn’t think of just asking for your number. _

_ This is Trott btw. _

_ You look crazy busy. What time are you out of here?  _

_ Smith wants to know if you’re hungry _

_ Want to go hang out?  _

_ Smith’s going to make his sad face until you text back _

There was another photo, this time with the ginger leaning on Trott’s shoulder. Smith was frowning, eyebrows drawn together and the corners of his lips turned down in an attractive pout.

Ross stared at his phone, bemused. He took one of the candy canes from the jar on the break table, and chewed on it absently. The chair was piled high with coats, so Ross sat on a case of bags shoved against a wall. His feet were killing him. He carefully tapped out his reply with one hand.

_ I’m off at ten meet me out front? _


	8. Urban Magic Yogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Far and away one of my most favorite AUs for this fandom, the thing that really kicked my writing life into a new gear. I love these stories, I love these characters, I love the world. Because most of my characters are fae, I decided to write from the perspective of one of my favorite humans. I hope you enjoy this one, it is pretty special to me.
> 
> [I'll be home for Christmas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3LZr6dSM8A) \- Johnny Cash

For December, the bowling alley added strings of blinking Christmas lights over the lanes to go with the country versions of Christmas songs. They never all quite synced, and they had to compete with the fuzzy neon over the lanes. But along with the artificial tree covered in tinsel, it made things feel festive in a grubby sort of way. Sips kind of liked it. 

“Hey Walter,” Sips said, clapping the older man on the shoulder as he passed. Walter nodded, the red glow of lights overhead making his white hair appear pink. Pushing past him, Sips dropped a heavy shopping bag on the folding table set up near their lane. Part of the bowling alley holiday decor was the toy drive. One of the women in league started it, and when she died a couple years back, one of the bowlers from his team took up the organizing to keep it going. 

“Honey, you sure went all out on this,” Pearl rasped, her forty year smoker’s voice nearly as deep as his own. She peered into the bag, rifling through the jumble of toys.

“You know me, Pearl, always a giver.” Sips looked at her, trying to see past the too tight sweater, the gaudy jewelry and heavy eye makeup. Did she have kids? Sips didn’t think she did. He didn’t know why she cared, but there was probably a reason. Everyone had a reason. 

Sips always bought things he thought his nieces and nephews would like. That was his reason. His older sister’s kids would be teenagers now, he remembered. How many kids did his sisters have between them now? He wondered if his brothers had gotten married yet, how many stockings hung around the fireplace in his parents house this year. Did his stocking still hang there, or had his mother packed it away? The thought gave him an unexpectedly deep ache.

Ross enjoyed picking out gifts, so Sips had taken him along for the shopping. While they wandered the store, he told Sips stories about watching the children in the church, the happy years when one of the priests organized a toy drive for the children of the neighborhood. Sips refrained from scoffing, or making a comment about how all the priests he knew growing up were cold bastards. Ross didn’t have anyone else who really understood the church, and Sips was happy enough to share that with him. He thought he might have kept going if he’d realized the church might be hiding talking, sentient gargoyles.

“Bless you, honey.” Pearl dropped the bag of toys into one of the big plastic bins under the table. She smiled at him, the half flirtatious smile she’d been using for the better part of two years now. He wondered if she was ever going to stop trying, or if she just did that out of habit. Sips nodded, and headed towards the counter to buy a pitcher of beer. He needed to do something with himself, to chase away the memories. Sips didn’t get blackout drunk so much anymore, and he didn’t intend to do it now. But he wanted a beer, and to lose himself in the noise of pins and balls clattering over the wooden lanes. It didn’t do any good to dwell, he reminded himself, even if the entire world was hell bent on reminding him of the family and life he left behind right about now.

Settling down beside Walter, he listened to Marco rant about the war on Christmas and how the country was going to hell in a hand basket. Sips just shook his head, thinking Marco would probably have a heart attack if he knew just how much “ungodly” stuff lived right around him in the city. 

Thinking about ungodly things, Sips glancing over to the little arcade area closer to the front. Smith was playing pinball, leaning forward over the machine in a way that pulled his jeans tight over his ass. Sips wondered if he did that on purpose, or if that was just a habit he couldn’t break. Either way, he didn’t mind. Looking at Smith always made him feel a bit better about things, in a weird sort of way. Funny how that worked. Sips had gone after him, sure Smith would be the end of him, but instead here they were. Sips smiled to himself, watching Smith toss his hair back, straightening up from the pinball machine. He caught Sips staring, and gave an exaggerated stretch that lifted his shirt enough to reveal a line of skin over the waist of his frayed jeans. The blue was half washed out, the denim thin and soft as suede in places, ripped in others. Smith kept wearing them though, and no one seemed to mind that. Sips thought about how they felt under his hands.

Marco made another comment about “unnatural” things, and Sips laughed aloud. Walter just sighed, and set up the scoreboard. 

Smith sauntered forward, as Marco stepped up to bowl still muttering under his breath. He picked up Sips’ cup and poured the beer, taking a long drink before handing it off to Sips.

“You want to bowl, Smiffy?” Sips watched Marco’s ball wobble towards the pins. The beer was cold, almost tasteless.  


“Nah, I’m good.” He leaned on the back of Sips’ chair. The Christmas lights overhead gave him an extra glow, and Sips wondered how he’d been so lucky to live long enough to see it. Smith looked down at him, something curious in his eyes. Sips handed him the beer, and got up to take his turn. 

“I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams,” Sips sang along with the tinny overhead speakers. He winked at Smith, and picked up his bowling ball.


	9. University AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another really popular fandom trope. Dedicated to my OG fandom inspiration, the person who got me into all this writing and who wrote some excellent Tross stories back in the day, Cpt Jay.

“Are you going home for the break?” asked Trott. He tucked his notebooks away, relieved that he had nothing to do for the next five days, and flopped face down on his bed.

“Yeah,” Ross said. “Going home on Monday or Tuesday after finals end, I think.” He was sprawled out on Trott’s floor, feet propped up on the bed. Ross still had one final, two days from now, and he was haphazardly studying for it. That seemed to mostly consist of arguing with Trott about movies.

“Me too. Well. Home first, then the family holiday trip to my grandparents.” Trott nudged Ross’ feet with his own as he stretched, pretending it was an accident. The entire semester had gone like this, the two of them hanging out in Trott’s room to do their work for the film history course they were both taking. It had turned into Ross doing most of his homework in Trott’s room, perfecting his ability to type while laying flat on his back with a laptop angled on his legs.

“Do you want your present now?” Ross asked. He poked Trott’s bare foot with his own socked one. 

“Present?” Trott raised his eyebrows, sitting up to look down at Ross.

“It’s Christmas, duh.” Ross rolled over to snag his backpack, pulling out a packaged wrapped in shiny red paper.

“Um.” Trott said awkwardly. “I didn’t-  I should have gotten something for you-” He mentally kicked himself for not getting something. He’d thought it might be weird, too much to get him something and what could he get anyway. What gift said hey we’re friends but I think I’m interested in you and I don’t know how to tell you? Trott sure as hell didn’t know. So he’d just avoided the question altogether.

“Trott, open your gift already!” Ross knelt up beside the bed, and shoved the package into Trott’s lap. Trott looked down at the package, peeling back the carefully taped paper. Inside was a coffee mug, black with a frowning face and crossed out eyes. 

“When you put the coffee in, it changes to a smiley face!” Ross reached over to turn the box in Trott’s lap, his arm resting on Trott’s knee. Trott swallowed the fluttering sensation, the little thrill at his touch. This had gone on all semester too, the butterflies and heat in his face every time Ross bumped into him.

“Just like you do,” Ross added, still smiling. “Add coffee, get a smiling Trott.”   


Up close, Trott could see the prickle of stubble on his jaw, the brilliant shades of blue to his eyes. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand to touch Ross’ cheek. When Ross didn’t shy away, Trott impulsively leaned forward to kiss him. Ross’ lips were softer than he expected, and he tasted like cola. He made a soft, dismayed sound when Trott pulled back.

“I’ve waited all semester for that,” Ross said. “Don’t stop now.” 

Trott raised his eyebrows, and kissed him again.


	10. Organized Crime AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Christmas gifts are NSFW!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My long running inspiration for an organized crime scenario comes from the films of Michael Mann, and [this piece of art by Bee](http://blithe-bee.tumblr.com/post/121221668034/a-doodle-that-ran-away-from-me-on-stream-shat).

Sips closed the door to his penthouse, and slung off his coat with a sigh. He walked down the hall, the goodnights of his driver still ringing in his ears. The holiday party at Morton’s had been a wild success, and he was buzzed still with the alcohol and laughter. It made the contrast of the quiet all the starker, and Sips kind of wished he had taken someone home with him. 

In the living room, the lights on the twelve foot Christmas tree glimmered and twinkled with their soft white glow. Gold bows and red glass ornaments decorated the entire tree, up to the shining gold star on the top. Someone had built up the fire, so it crackled invitingly and warmed the room. The room looked like a Christmas card, right down to the wrapped presents tucked under the tree.

There was another present though, waiting on his sofa. Sips unfastened his cuff links and dropped them into his pocket, staring silently at Smith.

“Hey,” Smith said, grinning. The diamonds around his neck caught the light, sparkling with their own fire. Sips recognized the necklace, one of the big pieces from the heist last week. He’d commented about what a shame it would be to take apart such a nice piece of work, that it was too recognizable to sell as it was. He wondered how Smith had gotten into the safe, and made a mental note to change the combinations on everything.

“Are you my Christmas present?” asked Sips. He stepped towards the sofa, drinking in the sight of Smith’s long legs in their candy cane striped stockings. There were white satin bows at the tops of his thighs. He wasn’t wearing much else. 

“Want to unwrap me?” Smith’s grin was irresistible. He lifted one leg, pointing his toes at Sips.

“Not until morning.” Sips caught his leg, slid a hand all the way down to the red silk panties Smith was wearing. They left very little to the imagination, clinging to his skin and outlining his stiffening cock. Beneath him, Smith shivered. His toes curled, and the pear shaped diamonds twinkled in the firelight. 

“But you get to open one on Christmas eve, that’s the rule.” Smith pouted, but only for a second as Sips' hand brushed between his legs. 

“That's the rule, huh?” Sips murmured. He tugged the panties down, amused that Smith put them on over the stockings. Probably just to get Sips to do exactly this. He slid his hands up the inside of Smith’s thighs, pushing his legs open. The warm silk felt good under Sips’ fingers. He moved to stand between Smith’s legs, fizzing with champagne and desire.

“Like your gift?” Smith raised his eyebrows. Sips put his hands on the back of the sofa, leaning forward over Smith. 

“Always full of surprises,” Sips murmured, drinking in the sight of Smith. The whole thing was over the top, but that was Smith for you. Explosive. Unpredictable. Gorgeous.  


Reaching up, Smith took hold of Sips’ tie and pulled him down for a kiss. Sips squeezed his cock again, stroking him slowly. Smith whined when he took his hand away, and Sips grinned.  


“I kind of think I want to fuck you right under the tree,” he whispered. One hand gripped Smith’s hair, forcing his head back so Sips could kiss his way down Smith’s throat. Teeth scraped over skin, making Smith arch up beneath him.   


“Merry Christmas,” Smith gasped. “Let’s do it.”


	11. Postapocalypse AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the world, but here we are.

Darkness came early, and the wind howled with another storm, slamming into the little cottage where they’d taken refuge. Ross grimaced, adding another log to the fire. They’d dragged their mattress into the living room. It was better to sleep closer to fireplace, and easier to shut up the unused bedrooms. Not ideal, but Smith was full of ideas about how to make things work better. If only they could get through this. Ross thought about how he probably would not have made it this far without Smith’s approximate knowledge of many things. 

“It will be Christmas tomorrow,” Trott said during a lull in the storm. Smith was curled on his side, already sacked out in the pile of blankets. Only his hair was visible, and Trott stroked it absently. He sat cross legged, wrapped in a blanket like a shawl. 

“Should we do something for it?” asked Ross. He sat back on the floor, leaning against the mattress. Christmas. Strange to think about. He wouldn’t know what day it was, except for Trott’s meticulous paper calendar. 

“No chocolates, I’m afraid.”

“I know,” Ross sighed. “Fuck.”

Trott yawned, and Ross bumped his shoulder.

“Go to sleep.”

“You’re not tired?”

“Going to stay up, listen for reindeer,” Ross joked in an exaggerated accent. Trott rolled his eyes, and curled up beside Smith in the tangle of blankets. With the mattress on the floor and the little sofa pushed back, it felt a bit like they were just building a blanket fort on someone’s living room floor rather than camping out in an abandoned home.

Certain they were both asleep, Ross found the little Fortnum and Mason tea tin he’d discovered on their fruitless search for a camping stove about a week ago. He set it on the coffee table, wishing he had a ribbon or something for it. Ross didn’t know why he’d hidden it in his jacket at first. But now the thought of setting it out, for Smith and Trott to find in the morning as a minor Christmas miracle filled him with a quiet joy. It wasn’t much, but it was a gift and Ross always thought giving was the better part of the holiday.

He watched them sleep for a little bit, thinking about how lucky he was to be with them. Not just because he wouldn’t have made it this far on his own. But if there was anyone he’d rather be with at the end of the world, it was the two of them. They’d been so lucky, and sometimes it frightened Ross. Lucky enough to be together when everything started to go to shit, lucky enough to stay that way.

Ross got up to fetch the water from the kitchen. It was chillier in there, away from the fire. Out of habit, he checked on the windows and the door, making sure everything was locked up tight. Ross pulled down three mugs from the cupboard. Everything would be ready in the morning, and they could have some tea. There wasn’t any milk, and Ross hadn’t seen a lemon in months and months. But it would be tea, and they would be together. He couldn’t ask for much more. Maybe the miraculous find of a Dairy Milk bar somewhere, but that was pushing it. He carried the tea things back into the living room, letting the kitchen door fall shut with a soft thump.

For some reason, he couldn’t sleep. The storm had quieted down some, and the snow fell straight down rather than blowing almost sideways. Their fire crackled, and Ross watched the flames. He tried to remember last year, what they’d been doing. It was funny to think how much everything had changed in the past year, the past four months. Last year they’d all been scattered for the holidays. But here they were, together at the end of the world. 

Smith murmured something in his sleep, rolling over and draping himself around Trott. Ross watched them for a moment, then shuffled forward to check on the fire. He poked the coals, pushing them together and settling another log into the fire. Satisfied it wouldn’t go out before one of them woke up, Ross climbed into bed on the other side of Smith. He snuggled himself into a blanket. Ross listened to the fire, and the steady sound of Smith’s almost snoring, pressed up against Smith’s back. It was actually pleasantly warm, and he drifted quickly towards sleep.

“Christmas,” Ross whispered to himself, and closed his eyes. 


	12. Filthy Money - Venture Capitalist AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our final installment, Christmas in one of my favorite AUs. Sometimes, you just wish you could stop time and stay in a moment.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading along.

Firelight colored the scene with a golden glow, leaving long shadows through the open plan cabin. It was really a stretch to call a place with five bedrooms a cabin, Trott thought. But that’s what Sips called it when he suggested they come up for a few days during the holiday. Much like his little place in the Pacific, this was a strange monument to the luxury of Sips’ life. But Trott did have to agree it was beautiful, big wooden beams and a giant stone fireplace in the living room. Outside snow drifted silently, gleaming in the light from the windows and Sips’ excessive Christmas light display. Trott wondered why that was even up, because it didn’t seem there was anyone else for miles and miles to even see it. But a herd of blinking reindeer trailed across the lawn, and the trees were strung with colored lights all the way down the driveway.

On the long leather sofa, Smith slept in an old college sweatshirt and sweatpants. He pillowed his head on his arm, and was stretched the full length of the sofa. Sips leaned over the back, looking down. One hand ruffled Smith’s hair, red and gold in the light. Something about the gesture, and its gentle affection, gave Trott a pang. He gripped the railing tight, willing time to stay still and leave them all standing here in this one perfect moment. Sips looked upwards, a smile on his face.

Trott walked downstairs, his socks sliding on the wood. He rounded the corner and found Ross in the kitchen. He stood in front of the stove, sleeves rolled up and barefoot, humming 

“You want marshmallows in your hot chocolate?” Ross asked, eyes on the pan full of milk and cream.

“Please.” Trott looked at the mugs Ross lined up on the slate counter top, a bag of marshmallows, the variety of spices and a couple bottles of booze. “Bourbon?”

“Or peppermint schnapps,” Ross smiled. He stirred the pan, and shut off the heat. 

“I should wake Smith up,” said Trott, glancing back to the living room. 

“Nah, I know what he likes. We can wake him up once this is done.”

Trott leaned on his elbows, watching Ross carefully mix the cocoa in each mug. He put extra cinnamon and clove into Smith’s mug, and a generous slug of bourbon. Sips’ mug held peppermint schnapps and a candy cane. Ross put bourbon and vanilla in Trott’s mug, and then stood there worrying his lip between his teeth while he considered his own mug. His hand hovered over the jars of spice before adding a splash of vanilla and then peppermint schnaps. He put marshmallows in each one, looking pleased with himself. 

"You are the best at this," Trott murmured, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek. Ross sighed happily, leaning into Trott for a moment.

Trott carried Sips’ mug, handing it off with a grin. Sips looked quite comfortable, unshaven and wearing a big knit sweater. Smith was still sleeping, looking remarkably young. It reminded Trott of their university days, Smith falling asleep on his sofa when they were meant to be doing homework. It was probably even the same sweatshirt, now that Trott thought about it. He used to wear it around the house on Sunday mornings, liking the way it smelled like Smith and was entirely too big. 

Sips and Trott both watched Ross lean down to press a kiss to Smith’s temple. Smith blinked, sleepy and warm. He took the offered mug with an incoherent murmur of thanks, shifting back so Ross could settle down beside him. Once Ross was on the sofa, Smith half crawled into his lap. Ross laughed softly, one arm around Smith’s shoulders. 

“Don’t spill it, and waste all the good bourbon.” Ross held his own mug carefully with one hand, waiting for Smith to settle down again before he tried to drink. He leaned his head against Smith’s.

“Merry Christmas,” Sips said, clinking his mug against Trott’s. The sound brought Trott out of his silent reverie, studying the way the light glowed around the people he loved most in the world.

“Merry Christmas,” Trott agreed. His fingers tingled, warm against the mug. He changed his mind. This was the moment he wanted to live in forever. Right here, with all this. 


End file.
